by Janette Oke
Glenna looked concerned. “He’s out on a call right now. I’ve no idea when he will be home. Do you think we should be worried—about Mama?”
“I don’t know. She seemed fine—at times—and then she would say and do strange things.”
“Well, she is getting older.”
“No.” Berta shook her head. “I think it is more than that. She didn’t even remember which of us is the older.”
Glenna frowned. “That is strange,” she said.
“And she has these little work projects scattered all over the house. She couldn’t even remember starting one of them.”
Glenna looked more worried.
A sound from a bedroom interrupted them. Glenna left her chair and moved quickly toward the door. “The girls both have bad coughs,” she explained as she hurried from the room.
Their father is a doctor, for land’s sake, thought Berta sourly. Doesn’ t he even have time to tend his own children?
Glenna was soon back again. Berta noticed her slow movement as she lowered herself into a chair.
“You sick?” asked Berta sharply.
“Me? No. Why?”
“You look a bit pale.”
“I haven’t been feeling too good since—”
“I thought you said you weren’t sick,” cut in Berta.
“I’m not—sick,” replied Glenna.
They sat and looked at each other. “You’re pregnant again!” exclaimed Berta.
Glenna nodded.
“My word! Why do you keep having Parker’s babies when he never stays home long enough to help you look after them? You’re going to wear yourself out.”
Glenna said nothing, but Berta saw the hurt in her eyes.
“Berta,” said Glenna softly. “What’s really bothering you? You’ve been agitated ever since you walked into the house.”
“I’m not—” began Berta, and then she stopped. It was true. She was ready to jump on anyone. She rose from her chair and crossed over to the fire. But she did not apologize to Glenna. She did not know how to apologize to her younger sister.
She stood staring down at the flames and at last turned to face Glenna.
“Mama worries me,” she stated flatly. “I had thought Parker would be here. I wanted to talk with him. I hoped he would drive out to the farm and check things out. I don’t even like to think of Mama alone out there when we don’t know what’s going on. What if she’s had a little stroke—or something? What if she does something really foolish? We have no idea what—”
“I will speak to Parker as soon as he comes in,” said Glenna.
“Well—if you want my opinion, he’s gone far too often,” stated Berta. “You look about—”
“Berta, listen to me. Parker has provided me with help for the house and help with the children. Parker is a good husband and a great father—in spite of his extremely busy schedule. Please—please don’t say unkind things about him.”
“Well, you need all the help you can get. You are on every committee and fund-raiser in the city. ‘Mrs. Parker Oliver chairs this, organizes that.’ It’s no wonder you look wan. You’re always on the front pages for something—always on the run.”
Glenna sighed. “It is too much—and sometimes—often—I do tire of it,” she admitted. “I know that the—hospital—the city—expects me to—represent many causes. I do get tired of it. But—that’s what life is about. Doing what you can—for others.”
“Pawsh!” exclaimed Berta. “I think you like to see your own pretty face in print.”
It had been years since Berta had spoken so cruelly to Glenna. Both women stared at each other, surprised at the outburst.
“I need to get home,” said Berta, gathering her gloves. “I’ve had a hard day. A hard year, to be exact. I’m exhausted.”
Glenna’s expression acknowledged Berta’s offhanded apology. “I’ll tell Parker about Mama as soon as he comes in,” she promised quietly.
A child coughed from the bedroom again, and Glenna turned to attend to her. “We’ll check on Mama just as soon as we can,” she called back over her shoulder.
Berta let herself out. She felt weary. Dejected. Defeated. She had thought she had grown. She had hoped that she had learned many truths from Pastor Talbot’s sermons over the months. And now, given a bit of pressure, she had discovered that her old self was lurking just below the surface. She hadn’t really changed. She was still simply a product of her past, of her circumstances.
———
When Parker drove out to the farm that night and checked on Mrs. Berdette, she had already retired for the night. Parker told Berta the next morning that he’d had a hard time explaining to his mother-in-law why he was calling on her at such a late hour.
“She is muddled,” he admitted. “I’m not sure at this point just why—but she is confused.”
“What can we do?” asked Berta. “She shouldn’t be left alone, should she?”
“It would be better if she had someone with her,” Parker agreed.
“She is so—set,” Berta said. “I’ve tried and tried to get her to move in with me.”
“On the other hand,” went on Parker, “a move to new surroundings might only confuse her more. At least she knows her whereabouts at present.”
Berta’s agitation pressed in upon her. She decided to hitch the mare and head for the farm again.
“Some week of relaxation this is turning out to be,” she grumbled to herself as she pressed the mare to quicken her pace.
Mrs. Berdette was watering the garden flowers when Berta arrived. Frost had already stolen their blooms, and they obviously were withered and lifeless. Berta felt despair as she observed her mother’s actions.
“What are you doing, Mama?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“They must be dry,” her mother responded. “They’re brown. See?”
“Mama, the frost has already killed them. They’re gone for this year,” argued Berta and attempted to move her mother back into the house.
“Wait,” said the woman. “I didn’t get that one yet.”
“It’s okay, Mama. I’ll care for them later,” Berta assured her and insisted that her mother return to the kitchen.
Once they were back in the house, her mother brightened. She seemed almost normal for the rest of the morning. Berta began to feel some relief.
“I hear Parker got you out of bed last night,” Berta observed.
“Who?”
“Parker.”
Mrs. Berdette frowned.
“Glenna’s Parker.”
“Oh yes. Parker. My, he was out late last night. Was he lost?”
“No, Mama. He just wanted to be sure that you were all right.”
Mrs. Berdette smiled. “Isn’t that sweet,” she said. “Just like Glenna. She must have told him to stop by.”
“Mama,” said Berta. “I want you to come into town with me.”
“A visit would be nice,” said Mrs. Berdette. “I’ll get my hat. Is it chilly enough for a shawl?”
“Not for a visit, Mama. I want you to come and live with me.”
The woman stopped midstride. “Oh, I couldn’t do that, dear,” she said quickly. “Someone has to take care of the team.”
“Mama, we don’t have a team anymore,” argued Berta.
The woman looked confused. “We don’t What happened to them?”
Berta gave up. It was clear that her mother could not be left alone.
“Mama, I’m going to go pack some things for you, and then I’m taking you home with me,” she announced. She was going to accept no excuses.
“That’s nice, dear,” said Mrs. Berdette. “You were always my helper. I always depended on you. For everything. ‘Berta is my dependable one,’ I used to say.”
Berta stopped in her tracks. “Then why did you always favor Glenna?” she asked sharply.
“Glenna,” said her mother. “Oh my. I didn’t favor Glenna.”
“You did,” argued Berta. “You always t
reated us—differently.”
“Of course,” said her mother in agreement. “I had to. You were different.”
“But—”
“What would you have had me do? Put Glenna in straight skirts? Crop off her hair? Or insist that you wear ribbons and bows? You both were different. It wouldn’t have been fair to make either one of you a copy of the other. Would it?”
Berta had nothing more to say. She went to pack a suitcase.
———
It had seemed like a good idea to take her mother into town, but it turned out to be far more difficult to manage than Berta had anticipated.
She had to go back to work. Her mother could not be left alone while she was off for the day at the library. She could not take her mother with her to the library. Nor was she successful in finding someone to stay with her mother at the house. In the end, Glenna took their mother in to be with her family. Berta knew it was a hardship for the busy Glenna. But there seemed little she could do about it.
“I’ll pop in to give a hand when I can,” she promised. But after a day at the library, there seemed so little time left to help out at Glenna’s.
Berta felt her life was whirling out of control. She also felt that she had lost all of the spiritual ground she had gained over the previous months. It troubled her deeply.
“I am who I am,” she said wearily one evening as she prepared for bed, trying to find an acceptable excuse, but in her heart she knew she felt defeated by another hard day.
Her spoken words did little to make her feel any better.
Chapter Twenty-two
The Sermonette
“Mama’s much better.” Glenna announced the good news to Berta as they stood on the steps of the church watching little Rosie and their mother hand in hand, chatting with the minister.
“Her mind seems much clearer. Parker says it may have been a little stroke. But I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for sure. Sometimes these things happen.”
Berta looked again toward their mother. She did seem better. It was a great relief.
“Perhaps I can take her with—”
“Not yet,” Glenna interrupted. “Parker says she shouldn’t be moved—shouldn’t face another change just yet. We don’t want a setback.”
Berta was a bit annoyed. Were they thinking that living with her would cause her mother to relapse? Was her company really that intolerable?
“In a week or so—perhaps,” Glenna explained. “Parker thinks the children are good for her right now. They seem to brighten her up. She does enjoy them so.”
Berta nodded. She certainly couldn’t offer her mother children. Clearly Glenna was taking care of that.
She knew her sister’s next baby was due in a few days. “What will Mama do while you’re—indisposed?” she asked, seeking to keep the rancor out of her voice.
“Mrs. Rudi will be living in. Mama will be just fine.”
Berta nodded.
Better to have her with an unknown housekeeper than her own daughter? she felt like commenting, but she bit her tongue.
“I’m glad she’s getting better,” Berta said instead and turned to go.
————
Glenna’s new baby was a boy. Berta thought it likely that everyone would compare him to Jamie. But there was really little likeness. At least in appearance. For some reason unknown to her, Berta was relieved. It would have been so hard to look at a little reminder of Jamie day after day.
Mrs. Berdette seemed to take on a new glow as she fussed over the little one.
“I think having a baby to care for is good for Mama,” Glenna said.
I hope you don’t plan on keeping her supplied, Berta thought dourly.
Glenna had already produced four babies. In Berta’s thinking, that was quite enough.
“She loves to sit and rock him—and sing to him. It’s the first I’ve heard some of those little songs since I was a child. It’s so sweet,” Glenna commented.
Berta nodded. You had more songs than I did, she wished to tell Glenna. Mama never cuddled me like she did you.
But Berta turned away.
————
“Where’s Mama?” Berta asked as she hung her coat in the hall closet at Glenna’s house and moved toward the kitchen.
“She’s rocking Tyrone.”
“Where are the girls?” asked Berta.
“Rosie is reading to Anna. Parker brought them some new books.”
“And Parker?” asked Berta tersely.
“He’ll be home soon. He’s making a check at the hospital. He had an appendectomy last night.”
“He had an appendectomy? My—he’s doing well—to be home so soon.”
Glenna just smiled at Berta’s bit of sarcasm.
“You know what I mean,” she said and led the way to the kitchen.
“Sounds like we’re all accounted for,” said Berta dryly.
“Well—not quite all,” replied Glenna as she busied herself with Christmas cooking at the big range with its enameled front. Berta had never seen such a fancy stove.
“Thomas is coming,” said Glenna matter-of-factly
Berta stopped dishing out the pickles.
“I thought Christmas was a family affair,” she said.
“It is. Family and guests. Occasionally I like to include a guest. Folks who don’t have family near. Pastor has been preaching on opening your door of hospitality.”
Berta had shut off that sermon, arguing that a single woman could not easily follow through on it anyway.
“And Parker says … ” continued Glenna.
If I hear “Parker says” one more time, I think I’ll scream, thought Berta.
“ … that we don’t really have folks in our home often enough. He says I can get all the help I need—and he’ll do his best to be here. He misses male companionship. He enjoys Thomas.”
So it seemed to be settled. Berta turned back to the pickles. At least Glenna had not said she felt Thomas would make the perfect mate for Berta. For that Berta was thankful—but she still wondered if that wasn’t the plan.
———
“Mama would like to go out to the farm and pick up a few more things,” Glenna told Berta the next Sunday. “Parker is not free to go—and I hate to take little Tyrone out. Would you be free to help Mama?”
Berta nodded assent.
“Parker says the road right now is not to be trusted for an auto, but you are more than welcome to use his team and sleigh. Do you think Thomas would mind driving?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” retorted Berta.
Glenna smiled sweetly. “I’ll do that,” she said, seeming to take no offense.
It was a sunny, mild day in spite of the fact that the snow lay deep across the fields. Berta checked her mother to make sure that she was well bundled under the lap robes.
Parker’s team was spirited. Berta was glad she wasn’t doing the driving. Thomas held the reins with confidence and seemed to enjoy handling the team.
“This is nice,” Mrs. Berdette commented, looking about. “I miss the country.”
Berta soon realized what Parker meant by the road not being in any condition for a car. There were drifts of snow across the entire road in places, but they posed no problem to the team.
“I miss looking out at the fields,” mused Mrs. Berdette. “It isn’t the same to look at buildings. You can’t really see—anything.”
Berta could not help but be amused. Glenna’s home was in the best part of the city—with wide lawns and beautiful houses. What would her mother think if she was on one of the streets where the houses crowded in closely to one another?
The outing in the sharp country air seemed to loosen Mrs. Berdette’s tongue. She continued little discourses and comments the whole way. For the most part Berta just listened. Thomas and her mother seemed to be having a good chat about the neighbors who used to live at the various farms. Berta wondered how many of them were still inhabited by the original family members—and how man
y had been sold off to strangers.
“Glenna’s little ones are so sweet,” Mrs. Berdette suddenly interjected into the current topic.
Thomas nodded with a smile.
“You know, children can be so different,” went on Mrs. Berdette. “They each have their own personality from the day they are born.”
Thomas looked interested but said nothing.
“Rosie is such a little—mother. She busies herself looking after the two little ones. She fusses over little animals in the same way. Always taking care of things. Anna, now—she enjoys the fussing. She wants Rosie to wait on her hand and foot. Oh yes, she takes full advantage of Rosie’s willingness to do so.”
She chuckled, and Thomas joined her.
“Little Jamie was independent and outgoing right from the start. He picked his special people. Yes, he did. He favored certain folk—even certain family members. Little Tyrone now—he loves everyone—just like Glenna. I think he’ll be much like his mother. So warm and affectionate. A cuddler. I love to hold a cuddler. He just snuggles right down against you and seems to almost purr. Glenna was like that.”
Mrs. Berdette stopped and chuckled again.
“Not Berta,” she laughed. “Oh no, not Berta. Why, from the time she was newborn I couldn’t get her to cuddle. She wanted her independence. She’d rear back and push away from me and look around with those big eyes, just as though she was sizing up the world to determine exactly what she wanted from it. That was Berta.”
She laughed affectionately.
Berta stirred in her seat. Her mother’s comments were making her uncomfortable. She wondered if Thomas was feeling uncomfortable as well. He looked completely at ease. Berta wondered if she should speak or cough to remind her mother that she was still in the second seat of the sleigh.
“Well—I’ve always felt that you had to let a child be who he is. Oh, you try to shape him to be the best person he can be—and you pray—that God will help with the shaping. But you can’t force a child to be—like someone else. You can’t. And you can’t compare him to someone else, either. It’s like oranges and apples. You have to measure and love each child for who he is.”
Thomas nodded. “Sounds wise to me,” he responded.
